


Not Quite Human

by sleepymccoy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Admissions of Love, Anal Fingering, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demisexual Crowley (Good Omens), First Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rimming, a decade later, ah i assumed there would be a formal tag for playing w hair but nothing came up, alright and now we begin tagging, also imma put these under formal tags, as well as wings and lots of eyes for aziraphale, at this point we get into spoiler territory in the tags, but it passes quick and then they actually talk, but its not god pov its just narrator stuff ya know, communication is my kink so that comes up, crowley has a nap, even tho its not explicit i think its very clear and its how i intended it, oh yeah i totally forgot, playing with hair, proposal, semi omnipotent pov, so if you wanna read already and like surprises stop now, somewhat fumbly admissions of love tbh, switching POV, the eyes are pretty consistent through the fic, there are many, theres some guilt and a moment of really self hated from crowley, they get engaged, they talk about feelings but they do get hot and heavy first, we got scales and mild and accidental demon presentation from crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 16:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21182432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymccoy/pseuds/sleepymccoy
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale had both quit their jobs for each other and returned home after the apocalypse, tumbling rather helplessly towards a relief-filled romance. But old habits die hard and with nothing left to keep the pair from expressing their feelings, they created their own barriers to hold themselves back.And so years passed with pointless desire, self inflicted wallowing, and miserable restraint.Luckily for both of them, the angel was fed up. He’d been stewing too long and had decided to give it a go.This is kinda an exploration into a different writing style for me, it's not a dedicated pov and it's full of little flashback style (sort of, not like serious flashback, more like mulling over the past for context) vignettes with ideas i wanted to include. There's something in the reading of it that feels very not human to me (hence the title) so if you feel like that then this is a good move for you. It is, however, still pretty human, like realistically the whole fic is them sitting in the bookshop macking on





	Not Quite Human

The apocalypse had been, all in all, a bit of a let down. All the angels of Heaven and demons of Hell had found it rather disappointing. 

In the years following the demons attempted a mutiny, but they lost interest fairly quickly when they’d realised there was no one around to mutiny against. After all, no one had had any control over the not-war except Crowley, and he’d turned his location off on his phone. And he was a bit frightening now. 

The angels hadn’t bothered to complain, they were all far too used to doing as they were told. 

One of each of these species had found their mood significantly different than their type in the aftermath. The aforementioned demon Crowley, and one angel Aziraphale. They’d both quit their jobs for each other and returned home, tumbling rather helplessly towards a relief-filled romance. But old habits die hard and with nothing left to keep the pair from expressing their feelings, they created their own barriers to hold themselves back. 

And so years passed with pointless desire, self inflicted wallowing, and miserable restraint. 

Luckily for both of them, the angel was fed up. He’d been stewing too long and had decided to give it a go.

Sitting may be a polite term for what Crowley was doing to his couch. He’d picked up this rather disturbing artistic effort at interior decorating, a modern exploration into levels, at far too high a price. The couch had no dedicated back (or front, for that matter), but rather was made up of different cubes and blocks of varying shapes and sizes, placed with no apparent awareness of the needs of a body to lounge. Aziraphale hated it. Depending on his mood, Crowley either found it unbearable, or the most comfortable thing in existence.

Today it was very comfortable. He lay splayed like a lost starfish across the surface, staring at his phone, not really thinking about anything.

Aziraphale was reading a simple book that didn’t require much concentration, and his mind was wandering and thinking and scheming. As an angel he had excess eyes, so while his humanoid pair were enjoying a lengthy description of the kind of elderly English person who frequented Betram’s Hotel’s parlour, his more angelic and unknowable eyes were keeping a watch on the demon across the room.

“I have a fear, Crowley,” Aziraphale said into the comfortable silence that had formed, “that we may spend the rest of our lives together with you not asking me for as much as I am willing to give you.”

Crowley dropped his phone and twisted his spine back to tip his head over the back of one of the absurd edges of the couch. His hair fell in his face and, after blowing the long locks out of the way, he asked, “What d’you want, then?” His glasses slipped up to his forehead, so Crowley scrabbled at them to keep them at least vaguely in place. 

Aziraphale turned his human eyes to Crowley. “You misunderstand, and I am not sure if you do so unintentionally or not, dear,” he said, unimpressed.

Crowley lay there, staring upside down at Aziraphale. He didn’t respond.

Aziraphale sighed and put his book to the side. He pursed his lips, spending another moment deciding if this was the right sort of track to take. He wasn’t sure, but he also simply couldn’t keep going forwards in the pointless, meandering, tense manner. “I have a feeling that you want more of me than you have requested. I would like you to ask me for what you want.”

Crowley rolled over, his body briefly giving him a few extra vertebrae to complete the movement. The poor demon was panicked, he had been living in a state of near terror for the last month as Aziraphale had begun pushing the non-communicated boundaries of their unspoken New Arrangement (the main difference to the Old Arrangement seemed to be that if Crowley didn’t come by the shop for a day, Aziraphale would call him and inquire as to why) into more and more intimate territory. He’d taken Crowley’s arm last week as they’d walked through what was left of St James’ Park and Crowley was still sorting through whether that had been meant as an overture to something  _ more _ , or if he was just assisting a friend. 

Crowley had enjoyed it, of course, he was in love after all. But he didn’t really want it. Well, he did, he wanted it a whole lot, but not to the point of being willing to risk what he had now. Things were good for the demon, he saw his angel every day, he spoke freely (mostly) and laughed more. Aziraphale came to him first often enough to make him feel special and wanted. So what if he’d cried at a sunset the other day, that was the sort of thing one simply does sometimes. 

He spoke slowly, somewhat resenting the request for an honest response. He could blow most things off with a joke, but this allowed for no casual falseness. “What if it's more than you want to give? I'm happy with this much,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale smiled tightly, still unimpressed. “I have more to give than I have given thus far, Crowley. And besides, the worst I can say is no. On the back of that, is there anything you'd like to get up to tonight?”

“Nah.”

Aziraphale swallowed his disappointment bitterly. “Very well.” He opened his book up again, returning unerringly to the precise word he’d left off at. “Let me know if anything occurs to you.”

The book shop had gotten bigger since the apocalypse, but the empty space within had shrunk. Aziraphale, after a few years of Crowley insisting he could, had relaxed and begun expanding his collection into more outrageous areas. There was an entire shelf of dedicated pornography that Crowley had teased the angel over for about thirteen seconds before Aziraphale had met his gaze unflinchingly and invited him to read a few of the novels. Crowley had not yet picked one up. 

There was a collection of paleontological books, all very seriously written, which Aziraphale found simply hilarious. Companion books for musicals sat on a bottom shelf, poking out in such a way as to trip unsuspecting customers, although these musicals ran more to the tune of  _ Rent _ and  _ Hair _ than they did  _ The Sound of Music _ . There were even instruments (some recognisable to modern eyes, some forgotten to all but time and the two present) leaning against a few walls that Aziraphale had taken to practicing despite not being very good at it yet. All in all the shop reflected a more honest picture of the angel that ran it. 

Crowley didn’t pick his phone back up, instead he lay on the now very uncomfortable couch on his stomach, staring at the edge of the coffee table seriously as he considered what he could ask Aziraphale for that the angel might give him. He wanted Crowley to push a boundary, clearly. They had moved rather slowly since the apocalypse, barely changing a thing as their very well built fears trickled away. Crowley’s had been replaced by a consuming fear of rejection (which hadn’t been far off consuming before the apocalypse, but had certainly grown since), and to his eyes Aziraphale had simply stopped living in fear. He was wrong, of course, Aziraphale was afraid of his own cowardice, which was its own kind of spiralling disaster, but Crowley didn’t know any of that. 

Crowley wanted to ask Aziraphale to shift their dynamic into what humans would label as a romance. Being immortal beings crafted by God, the dynamic of such a romance would hardly be human in nature, but the agreement could start there. Of course, Crowley had no idea if Aziraphale wanted anything in that vein. The pornography books flitted through his mind as a possible answer to that, but he decided they weren’t complete enough an explanation to rely on. 

The worst he could do is say no, Crowley mused. That was true. And Crowley was unlikely to ask for something that would be so totally and utterly reprehensible that Aziraphale would depart. He may just refuse, shower Crowley in a moment of disdain, and go back to quietly reading a book and thinking about desserts. 

Unfortunately for Aziraphale, Crowley rather liked hope, even of the false variety, and didn’t want it dashed. So Aziraphale’s wishes weren’t met exactly, but they weren’t totally let down. Crowley refused to ask for much, but he did, at long last, ask for something just slightly left of their centre.

“Can I come sit with you?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale glanced at him, not displeased with the request, but not overjoyed either. He’d rather hoped Crowley might bound over and kiss him, but alas. “Certainly,” he agreed. He shifted to the side slightly to make room on the old two-seater.

Crowley stood in one not very fluid motion and plodded over to the couch. He sat almost formally next to Aziraphale. The two-seater seemed smaller than it should and his shoulder brushed the frills of the blanket Aziraphale had thrown over himself. 

“Is this okay?” Crowley checked after nearly twenty seconds had passed in silence.

Aziraphale threw him a disparaging look and decided not to answer verbally. He leaned sideways towards Crowley and bumped him with his upper arm. Crowley didn’t return the movement, but he didn’t skitter away, so Aziraphale stayed lightly pressed against Crowley’s arm. 

“Are you cold?” Aziraphale asked. 

“No,” Crowley said. He was stressed.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “You're shaking,’ he pointed out gently. 

Crowley closed his eyes and forced his body to stop. “I'm cold,” he lied. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Time to take pity. “Well, I'm quite warm, would you like to sit closer?” He held up an arm, opening the blanket as he did so and clearly inviting Crowley to cuddle.

Crowley considered spontaneous discorporation, but ultimately decided to accept the offer. 

He shifted into the curve of Aziraphale’s arm, his boney shoulder pressing against the side of Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale lowered his arm, pulling Crowley in with the blanket warm around him. Crowley sat stiffly, not letting himself get too comfortable, too used to it, in case it was taken away.

“Is this okay?” Crowley asked again as Aziraphale returned his attention to his book.

Aziraphale’s patience was thin today, and that snapped it. “Crowley,” he said in frustration, “I shall do my damndest to give you just about everything you might want, do you understand me?”

Crowley was much more used to annoyance than kindness, but not from Aziraphale. He stiffened for a moment, then decided that if a tentative approach would annoy Aziraphale, he ought to try for something at least somewhat bold. He pulled himself out of Aziraphale’s grasp and didn’t notice the worried, apologetic, and pained look the angel laid upon him as he reorganised his body. 

Aziraphale watched, surprised and dismayed into silence as Crowley disengaged. He began to form a sentence to apologise for snapping at him so when Crowley returned, his body now laying lengthways on the couch (which had grown comically longer as required) and his head hesitantly lowering to rest on Aziraphale’s thigh. 

Aziraphale stared, all his eyes wide and focused as Crowley placed his head on the middle of Aziraphale’s thigh, his body curled up and facing away from him. After a breath as they settled into this, Aziraphale decided not to comment. He flung the blanket out, lengthening it usefully as he did so that it landed to cover Crowley’s entire body.

It was quiet again in the shop, the silence only interrupted as Aziraphale turned the pages of his book. 

Crowley lay with his eyes wide open behind his glasses, staring dead forwards at the shop, waiting for the penny to drop and for his actions to be reprimanded. As time ticked on and he was allowed to remain he decided, eventually, to test the waters for their normality.

“What are you reading?” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale smiled. “Agatha Christie, it's a rather modern whodunnit. There's a little old pussy fluttering around solving murders and such.”

Crowley chuckled. “A little old pussy, huh?” He shifted his body and the weight on Aziraphale’s thigh grew heavier as he relaxed, no longer holding himself taut and ready to bolt, but actually, truly laying on Aziraphale. 

“So the author refers to her,” Aziraphale said, because he wanted to say something that wasn’t directly thanking Crowley for this touch.

Aziraphale kept reading. Crowley lay, pleased that Aziraphale seemed to think this was fine, this was normal, this required no explanation. 

Then, Aziraphale turned a page and, instead of hovering by the book for their next engagement, his fingers scraped through Crowley’s hair in the interim. 

Crowley pinched his eyes shut in immediate shock, forcing himself not to respond verbally to the touch. He wanted to moan, the sound was in his throat, clamouring to be let out, but that wasn’t appropriate. Crowley’s hand found some loose fabric and gripped it, using the touch and texture to keep himself grounded as his soul threatened to float away into an abyss of pleasant sensations.

Aziraphale, for what it was worth, was enjoying himself greatly. He wasn’t in a mood to over-examine things today and so the feeling of Crowley’s long hair sliding through his fingers was a simple pleasure that he was happy to indulge in. He never had before, and perhaps he was being overly bold, but Crowley had laid in his lap and gripped his pant leg tightly, so Aziraphale was feeling more like he was opening an unlocked door than kicking down a wall.

Time passed quietly. Aziraphale turned a page and Crowley convinced himself that the touch had ended, but every time his hand returned to his hair, delving deeper between his locks until his touch was more a gentle massage than the hesitant stroke it had begun as. Crowley was close to giving up on the battle to not moan. 

“Crowley, you may refuse of course, but would you remove your glasses? They're cutting into my thigh somewhat,” Aziraphale muttered. 

Crowley snatched his glasses off, letting them drop nearby onto the floor. “Sorry, angel,” he said weakly. 

“Quite alright.” His hand was in Crowley’s hair, a finger behind his ear, pressing against a beautifully tender zone. “Do let me know if my touch is tiresome to you, I w-”

“No, it's good,” Crowley gasped. He didn’t want this to stop, he couldn’t let this slip through his grasp. He could live like this forever quite happily. “It's good,” he repeated quietly. 

Aziraphale flushed happily, flattered and pleased. He turned a page then, feeling far more confident than he had in some time, he pressed two fingers against Crowley’s temple, over his snake mark, his other fingers finding their place in amongst his hair and massaging his head gently. 

Crowley’s resolve melted for a moment and he moaned. He caught it, stopping the sound nearly as soon as it started, but not quite fast enough. He began to move to get up, certain he had fucked it all up, but Aziraphale held him down. Not forcefully, just with intent. And Crowley didn’t want to fight him, so he acquiesced easily.

Aziraphale scraped a confident finger down the back of Crowley’s ear, pressing hard. Crowley whimpered at the touch, both embarrassed and delighted by the sensation shooting through him. 

“This is the sort of thing you ought to ask for, dear demon, rather than make me guess,” Aziraphale admonished fondly. 

“Right,” Crowley agreed breathlessly. 

Time passed like this, close to forty minutes of it although neither kept track. Crowley relaxed into the small sounds he made, they were unbidden but no longer held back by any efforts. Aziraphale revelled in them, learning where to touch Crowley that might increase his volume. He grew quite good at it all. 

“Is there anything else you'd like?” Aziraphale asked as he approached the end of his book.

Crowley hummed wordlessly. “I might fall asleep,” he mumbled. 

“Oh, if you're willing to wait a moment I'll just get some tea together. And another book, this won't last much longer,” Aziraphale said. He pulled his hand from Crowley’s hair reluctantly and waited.

Crowley took a moment, but he sat up and allowed Aziraphale to stand and putter around the kitchen. He was too calm to return to his usual panic so he just sat and luxuriated in this platonic afterglow. 

“Who d'you reckon did it, then?” He asked as Aziraphale returned, nodding at the nearly finished book. 

Aziraphale smiled at him warmly, overjoyed to see the fully yellow eyes that looked straight at him. He didn’t tip Crowley over into slipping in his form’s presentation often, and he loved it when he did. “Oh, it's either the mother in self defense, or the daughter in quite an act of wickedness, I'm curious to find out. Although there seem to be quite a few thieves about so I may be barking up the wrong tree entirely.” 

Aziraphale placed his tea down and resettled in his seat, a small selection of books at the ready. He raised his arms a touch awkwardly and looked meaningfully at Crowley, who accepted without thought. 

Crowley lay further up Aziraphale’s leg, in the crook of his hip. “Let me know,” he said as he closed his eyes happily. 

Aziraphale returned his hand to Crowley’s head and began gently running his fingers through his hair again. “Certainly.”

Crowley faded off to sleep easily. The smell of Earl Grey and old paper mingled fondly with the infinitely familiar cologne Aziraphale chose. The day continued outside unaware of the tenderness that filled the shop. Aziraphale spent some of his time reading, and some of it looking at Crowley and wondering.

It hadn’t been what he had expected the demon to ask for. He’d imagined something rather more base. He wasn’t disappointed by any means, this was it’s own small wonder and he hadn’t enjoyed a cup of tea and a book this much in his entire existence, but he had come up with a few ideas of what Crowley might ask for when given the option and this, well, it did not come close to the intimacy Aziraphale had enjoyed imagining. 

Aziraphale spent some time imagining intimacies, his thoughts growing steadily more lascivious as he delighted his oft constructed fantasies.

Time wasn’t relevant, and Crowley eventually stirred. 

“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale whispered. 

The snake turned, his human body twisting in ways it ought not, stretching out and flexing every muscle and joint it had and a few it normally didn’t. Crowley rolled on Aziraphale’s leg, pressing his face into his stomach briefly and groaning through the discomfort of waking. He lolled around, finally laying on his back and settling into a more normal position as he squinted up at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale chuckled at the display and lowered his hastily raised hand to rest on Crowley’s upper chest, his fingers moving against his collarbone intimately. They were both determined to behave as close to normally as they could, to almost aggressively accept any new touch as a status quo. 

“Who did it then?” Crowley asked as he blinked into awakedness. 

“Oh, turned out to be the daughter in an act of misguided generosity,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley grinned. “Not so wicked, then.”

“That seems to be going around, yes.”

Crowley chuckled. “M'plenty wicked,” he said with a false defensiveness.

Aziraphale slipped a finger under Crowley’s collar. “Yes, utterly heinous,” he agreed sarcastically, returning his focus to the book in his hands. “I offer myself to you in any way you may wish and you curl up to have a nap. Incorrigible.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “What were you expecting, then?” He challenged cheerfully.

Aziraphale hummed. His human eyes were still reading his book and, unfortunately, he was not paying the closest attention to his words. He’d slipped while Crowley had slept and had practiced this conversation a few times, and now he said one of his clever, witty lines that he had not meant to actually say. “I thought you might ask me to suck you off at least. Or the other way around, you do like to give, don't you?”

Crowley froze first, and Aziraphale followed suit shortly after. The angel closed all of his countless eyes in embarrassment.

Crowley sat up shakily, shucking Aziraphale’s hand from him. Aziraphale did not try to stop him. 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Aziraphale said quietly. Then, amazing both of them, he asked, “am I so wrong?”

Crowley was facing away, sitting still, and thinking. Sorting. Questioning. “Not-” he started to say, but he wasn’t ready yet. “Hang on,” he suggested.

Aziraphale nodded. “Very well.” He waited, very stressed, for an entire minute, then got bored of being stressed so he returned to his book. Crowley wouldn’t run, Aziraphale could get on his knees now and ask Crowley to marry him and while he had no idea if his proposal would be accepted or not, he knew Crowley wouldn’t run. He’d made a blunder, yes, but it wasn’t like it was the end of the world. No, that had been far more hectic and untrustworthy.

Crowley was filtering through his assumptions, trying to fit them in with what Aziraphale had just said. It didn’t fit. He started from scratch again, taking this new light and shining it on all their interaction.  _ I gave it away. Oh, well, let me tempt you to... You go too fast for me. Do something or I shall never speak to you again. I thought you might ask me to suck you off. _

Crowley turned and faced the angel. “You wouldn't just walk out if I asked for that kind of thing, then?” He asked. 

Aziraphale closed his book, his frustration beginning to mount again. “Seeing as it's a new day for you, and you were presumably somewhat tired when I last said it, I will repeat myself. I want to give you much more than you have assumed, but I will only do so if you ask.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley now and took note of the fear and worry that was clear in his eyes. He reached out and pulled a lock of hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear tenderly. Crowley said nothing. 

“My tea's cold, I'll be back in a jiffy,” Aziraphale said, mainly to give Crowley a minute to himself, but also partially because his tea had lasted far longer than it ought to and miracled tea wasn’t as nice as the true stuff.

Crowley stared after him as he left, still sorting through this whole development. If he overstepped, there was at least a reason to have done so, and Aziraphale would likely forgive him. He looked at the front door and wondered. The world outside often moved on without them, they had a few times in the last few decades accidentally stayed together in the bookshop for months at a time and not noticed a change in government or destruction of a building. In one of these periods their favourite park had been developed on and now Aziraphale made a show of leaving at least once a week, but Crowley didn’t always attend. Perhaps he should’ve been. 

“Do you wish to leave?” Aziraphale asked, following his gaze to the door. 

“No,” Crowley said quickly, turning to face him. 

Aziraphale sighed. He’d pushed a bit today, perhaps it was time for a breather. “Crowley, if you want to leave you're free to do so.”

“I don't want to leave,” Crowley said. Then a thought struck him. “Do you want me to leave?”

Aziraphale returned to his seat, thinking about how to answer that. He decided to take a risk, then spent a few seconds afraid of taking said risk. He had a sip of tea, fiercely ignoring the shake in the water as he held it with a tremble. Crowley was watching, he could see him out of the corner of his eye, and straight on with the eye that hid in his shoulder. “I never want you to leave again,” Aziraphale told his tea cup. 

His bravery was rewarded tenfold. Crowley was a tentative and careful creature, but he was also the type to leap out of Heaven on the back of one unanswered question. 

“I want to kiss you,” Crowley admitted. A delicate smile blossomed across Aziraphale’s face.

“Well, I've never done that before but I'll give it a red hot go,” Aziraphale agreed readily. 

It took the two a moment to arrange themselves, but they already sat close enough that not enough time passed for any serious doubt to build. Very soon Crowley found himself leaning forwards, holding himself up with an arm flung over the back of the couch, and pressing his lips to Aziraphale’s. 

Their teeth clicked pretty early on, but they got that under control quickly. Neither of them really knew how to kiss, but they’d seen humans at it plenty of times so they had guidelines to be going off. Of course, they weren’t human, and Crowley at least was sure that two hands on your jaw, holding your face to better kiss you with wasn’t normally as overwhelming as he found it. 

They kissed and it was good. Crowley yearned for more, but did not ask for it. Again, he was content, he was satiated with what Aziraphale gave him. 

“What d'you think?” Crowley whispered against Aziraphale’s lips. 

Aziraphale thought it was marvelous, but he didn’t want to overwhelm the demon. “I see the appeal,” he muttered back, underselling his opinion masterfully.

Crowley grinned and kissed him again. This time he tried using his teeth intentionally, and Aziraphale responded by eagerly pulling him into his lap and holding him close to kiss him better. 

Crowley found himself laughing as they kissed. He never wanted to stop, he wanted this forever. Instead of asking if Aziraphale would kiss him again, if he could rely on a new normal, he asked, “reckon we're onto something?” 

Aziraphale kissed him and said, “Yes.” 

Crowley ran a hand through Aziraphale’s hair and they both shivered. Aziraphale kissed him again, surprising and delighting Crowley entirely. The feeling of the other’s body so close was a wonder to both of them. Aziraphale felt he may never tire of the sensations he was experiencing, the weight of Crowley in his lap, the pressure of his lips against his, the shiver of his throat against Aziraphale’s fingers as they kissed in silence, all gasps and whimpers that wanted to form held under tight control.

Aziraphale kissed him simply and deeply, but his mind wondered to his pornography collection and he began to plan again, occasionally tugged back into the moment by something clever Crowley did with his tongue. 

After a little time Aziraphale pulled back. He’d gotten distracted by his own brainstorming. “Must it be lips?” He asked. 

Crowley took the question seriously, but hypothetically. “I think lips are what make it kissing, yeah,” he said. "Otherwise it's just touching."

Aziraphale stuck his lower lip out in thought. Mindlessly, Crowley chased Aziraphale’s pout, going to kiss it, but Aziraphale tapped his chin as he leaned forwards and said, “Look up for a moment, dear.”

Crowley stopped his momentum and did so without considering disobeying for a moment. They sat beneath Aziraphale’s sunroof and as Crowley looked up a beam of light broke through the clouds towards them. It was just the sun, but Crowley briefly entertained himself that it was God, looking down in jealousy at the best thing She’d ever lost.  _ Mine now _ , Crowley thought fiercely. Of course, he didn’t believe it (although he was more right than he knew), Aziraphale was his own thing, but Crowley had been Aziraphale’s for so long now that in this moment he got muddled. 

Then Aziraphale’s lips were on his neck and Crowley stopped thinking anything at all. 

“Oh, I see,” Crowley finally said as Aziraphale started working his second dedicated hickey, the moment of pain involved turning his mind back on. “Yeah, I think that's- I think that's still kissing, yeah, yeah.”

“May I have your hand?” Aziraphale asked. 

The sound Crowley made when Aziraphale pressed his lips to the inside of Crowley’s wrist can only be heard, but it’s closest written counterpart would be, “mmhmmpr.”

Aziraphale liked that sound, and more than that he liked the blush on Crowley’s face as he made it. Crowley had two good hickeys forming on his neck from Aziraphale’s proud work, and now Aziraphale was determined to leave a third on his wrist. 

Crowley bucked in Aziraphale’s lap, beginning to get more than just overwhelmed and sensitive. Crowley didn't recognise the feeling flooding him, he had felt it before but hadn't yet successfully identified it. He was getting horny. He would figure it out soon.

“Is it simply everywhere that feels good?” Aziraphale muttered as he left small kisses on Crowley’s hand. 

“I have no idea,” Crowley admitted.

Aziraphale sighed, his eyes raking over Crowley’s form hungrily. “I wonder.”

Crowley shivered at the heat of his gaze, made somehow cold by it. One last time, he needed to be sure Aziraphale was here, willingly, for himself. “Would you like to find out? Or would you rather go back to your book?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, the book can wait,” Aziraphale said easily. 

“So can I, angel, take your pick,” Crowley sighed. He so wanted to be the angel’s choice.

“I chose you some time ago, dear,” Aziraphale said, not meaning to knock the breath out of Crowley’s lungs, but doing so regardless. Aziraphale wiggled his fingers in preparatory excitement and exclaimed, “Now, let's experiment!”

Crowley laughed beautifully. Aziraphale grinned at him and tipped him over, pushing him down onto the two person loveseat that could now easily host a family of eight, but was rather taken up by a tangled angel and demon. 

Aziraphale organised himself to rest between Crowley's legs, one hand braced on the arm of the couch, the other resting by Crowley's head to play with his hair again. Crowley pulled him close, his legs moving and wrapping and slinking around the angel's body as his hands explored the layers of fabric before him.

They kissed again, this time it was lighter and more cheerful. Aziraphale began working Crowley's shirt open as he did and Crowley began trying to remember how to go about removing 1800s clothing because that was, after all, what he was faced with. 

A nibble on his collar bone made Crowley shift, pressing up against Aziraphale. His dick scraped against Aziraphale's thigh, send surprising sparks through him. 

"Oh," Crowley moaned in shock. He froze and looked at Aziraphale warily. 

"What?" Aziraphale asked as he noticed. 

"I’m erect," Crowley explained. "That doesn’t happen often."

"Oh," Aziraphale said. He sounded, to Crowley's ears, like he was disappointed. That wasn't quite the case, but he wasn't pleased either. He was more surprised, he'd had a vague plan and that hadn't been part of it. 

"Yeah, sorry," Crowley agreed. He began to shift, pulling himself away from Aziraphale's body so that he wouldn't accidentally rub on him.

Aziraphale realised that Crowley was withdrawing. "No, no, it’s fine," he said hurriedly. "I’m just not particularly interested in touching you there," he explained. 

Crowley stop trying to extricate himself and studied Aziraphale seriously for a moment. He was rather pliable right now, and prone to agreeing, so he asked for more in the best way he knew how; which was to ask Aziraphale what he wanted. 

"Well, where d’you want to touch me?" Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale smiled and returned to work undoing Crowley's shirt. He didn't speak and Crowley didn't interrupt, letting him take his time before answering. He always answered, one way or another. 

Aziraphale opened Crowley's shirt, then, without pause, moved right in to undoing Crowley's pants. Crowley sucked in a breath at the touch and shift, glancing back briefly to keep himself under some control. It was around this time he realised he was extremely horny. He ignored it. 

"Is there anywhere you’d particularly like me to?" Aziraphale asked. "Or anywhere to avoid?" 

"Well, I think it’d be kinda odd if you started pulling on my nose, but otherwise nah, I’m easy," Crowley said. 

Aziraphale threw him a glare. "How romantic," he condescended.

Crowley hadn't realised he should be romantic. Should he be romantic? This wasn't romance, was it? Romance meant, well, romance. Love, usually. This wasn't that. Was it?

The worry left his mind in the way a suddenly dead bird leaves a flock as Aziraphale knelt and began pulling his pants off. Aziraphale worked somewhat matter of factly, tugging Crowley's tight pants down his legs inch by inch, carefully avoiding knocking his penis or catching his skin in the folds of the denim. Crowley watched, utterly entranced. 

Once done and with the skinny jeans thrown aside, Aziraphale shimmied down and laid a short kiss on the inside of Crowley's knee, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction. Crowley made no sound, but regardless the struggle on his face appeased Aziraphale's curiosity. It seemed like kissing felt good everywhere. 

Aziraphale returned near to his original position, carefully hovering over Crowley. Aziraphale was still dressed and the scrape of his fabric and the cold touch of his buttons ran through Crowley with abundant life. 

One of Aziraphale's hands slipped under Crowley's head, forcing him to sit up a smidge, making him easier to kiss as they both quickly discovered. As Crowley was distracted kissing Aziraphale, Aziraphale moved his other hand down the side of Crowley's body, to his hip, then between his legs and under him. 

With unquestioningly slicked fingers (and a miracle Heaven would blush to approve, although Aziraphale’s had been on an automatic confirm for millennia for simplicity's sake), Aziraphale pressed a digit against Crowley's asshole. 

Crowley's eyes flew open. "Oh, fuck," he muttered. 

"That okay?" Aziraphale asked quietly. 

Crowley looked at him like a deer in headlights and nodded because while he had never been so blindsided by an action, he had also never wanted anything more than he wanted Aziraphale's fingers in his ass right now. "Yeah," Crowley whispered as Aziraphale continued to wait patiently for a response without moving.

Aziraphale pressed in and Crowley keened, loudly, not unashamedly but with so little shame that it really didn't hold him back. 

Crowley had never been touched like this and it made him feel everything more than he ever had. He grew quickly greedy, clinging to Aziraphale and feeling the fine fabric of his shirt, gasping into his ear and kissing his hair, rising up to feel his strength above him. He also grew desperate internally, he wanted to be touched deeper, everywhere, all at once. He wanted Aziraphale to tell him it would be forever, that they would be forever, he wanted to hear his name whispered and desperate from the angel's lips. 

Crowley wasn't the type to ask, however. Well he was, by nature one to ask, but not that. Not when it could distress something he loved. While Aziraphale fucked his fingers into him, a second digit already making him gasp, Crowley still lay too afraid to say the wrong thing and be too vulnerable, too honest. 

Aziraphale curled his fingers and Crowley choked on his mangled breaths, gasping a sound that shouldn't have been a word but was definitely the angel's name. 

It was such an odd sensation. His demonic soul rarely struggled to maintain possession, he simply strolled about and gave up on getting control over his eyes. But right now it was like he was having two experiences, just slightly out of sync. He was being fingered rather roughly by a pair of thick fingers, and that was good. That was hot and his human body was desperately enjoying it. His demon essence was focused on it being Aziraphale's touch, the texture of the fabric from the well loved vest the angel wore was more important to Crowley than the feeling of his fingers here. The puffs of breath that smelled like Earl Grey tea against his face and the occasional glimpse of sparkling blue eyes. It was all too much, Crowley was in love and his body wanted to be fucked. 

Light fell on Crowley’s face and his eyes opened fully, taking in the sight above him. The sun had emerged from behind another cloud and sat directly behind Aziraphale’s head, illuminating his hair like a halo. In the silhouette of his shape Crowley could glimpse his wings. As Crowley looked, for a moment, he saw the reflection of dozens of eyes in the air around Aziraphale, all focused on him, drinking in the sight of him. 

A chorus sang in the demon’s head, an awareness all too alert as to who and what touched him. The chant began to drip out of Crowley’s lips in adoration, in joy. 

“Angel, angel,  _ angel _ ,” Crowley moaned. 

Aziraphale stared at him, unblinking, desperate to catch every second. Every eye of his was open and focused. Crowley’s eyes were yellow and seemed the only part of him under any semblance of control as they stayed focused on Aziraphale in return. His body writhed on the couch, staying in place only because Aziraphale’s weight held him there so. Crowley’s hands flew, alternating swiftly and wildly between dragging across Aziraphale’s chest, gripping his bicep, or getting lost in Crowley’s own long hair. Aziraphale watched, overjoyed as Crowley steadying lost control of himself, gasping and muttering and occasionally sounding like he was about to beg (although he always caught it before he actually said please). His skin began to peel in consistent patterns, hinting at turning into scales. Aziraphale found if he crooked his fingers just so, Crowley would shout and a few scales would solidify on his neck. Aziraphale did so a few times for good measure. 

Due to the angel’s true form, which was barely hidden now, he had eyes all around the two of them. So when Aziraphale thrust towards Crowley and twisted his fingers, causing the demon to whimper and turn his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s arm, Aziraphale still had clear sight of every angle of him. There was an eye in the crook of his arm that caught a glimpse of Crowley biting his lip. There was nowhere Crowley could go to hide his response and Aziraphale swelled as he watched in awe at how vulnerable, how adoring this creature was for him. 

Aziraphale wondered briefly if he could orgasm like this. He spared a moment of attention to his own body and found that he was very close, and a few small changes to the situation would finish him. He had no interest in finishing right now, however. He wanted Crowley like this forever. To be allowed to touch him so intimately, to be invited, was an ecstasy that should not be ended lightly or selfishly.

“Angel,” Crowley gasped, the sound distant through the heavy air. 

Aziraphale shifted his arm beneath Crowley’s neck and caught his hair in his hand, pulling his head to face his human eyes. Crowley’s eyes flew open, startled at the confident touch and his hands returned to scrabbling helplessly at Aziraphale’s bowtie. “My name, dear,” Aziraphale requested.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said instantly, his voice near wrecked.

The sound of his name in that tone ripped through Aziraphale. He groaned and tipped his head forwards to rest against Crowley’s forehead. He closed his human eyes and watched the two of them from behind, above, within. “Again,” Aziraphale muttered, his voice hoarse. If he made this last, if he kept Crowley from coming, if he never came himself, perhaps they could live here for a while, he could stay buried in Crowley and lose himself entirely.

“Aziraphale- oh God, Aziraphale.”

“I would rather not hear about God in this setting, my-” Aziraphale caught the word before it slipped, the L shape of his tongue freezing even as his fingers continued to move inside Crowley. The word fought to be free, to be said, but he forced it back, managing to satiate it some with the correction of, “my dear demon.”

The pause was sustained enough that if Crowley had had more of his senses and awareness at his disposal he might have noticed it, but by chance - or rather, due to Aziraphale’s good work - he was simply too distracted to spot anything amiss.

Crowley, instead, chuckled at the admonishment. “No, blasphemy, huh?” He said, the air of him somewhat rambling, somewhat flattering. “Oh, whatever you want, angel, Aziraphale, whatever you ask for. Just kiss me again, please.”

They were so in love that neither noticed that he’d begged. Aziraphale obeyed without consideration, he kissed him and worked in him and revelled in how Crowley held him close, close like he would never let go, like he had never wanted to be elsewhere. What a thing that would be were it true.

"What can I do to make this better for you?" Aziraphale asked. His voice was thick, adoring, happy. He was finding so much joy in this, he wanted- he needed to find a way to ensure he could do this again, he needed to please Crowley. 

"I- " Crowley gasped helplessly. He couldn't think of anything better than this. He couldn’t think of much at all. 

"Anything, dear," Aziraphale pleaded. 

Crowley shut his eyes and thought for a moment, focusing on the feeling of Aziraphale's fingers physically in him so that his mind had a moment to think about what really mattered, rather than just swim through the sensation of his unrequited love. "Oh, tell me- you said you- tell me why you chose me," Crowley sighed. 

"Crowley, how could I not?" Aziraphale said immediately. His hand changed angle and drove into him with a rough caress. "You’ve protected me and freed me and you’ve- you’ve always been so honest with me." Aziraphale took a breath and didn't notice as Crowley immediately stopped enjoying his evening. Aziraphale continued blindly. "And I have found that very hard to come by, and when-"

"Stop," Crowley interrupted. He was cold. Sick. Oh, he hated himself. 

Aziraphale stopped moving but didn't disengage. "What?" He gasped. 

Weak, weak and worthless. "Stop, stop," Crowley said hurriedly, needing this to end. His demonic soul and his human body reformed from their blissed out separation to turn on him is disgust. He pulled away from Aziraphale and Aziraphale responded like an electric current ran through him. It almost had, panic felt like that when it was so absolute. He pulled his fingers out of Crowley and moved away as quickly as he could manage, staring wide eyed at the now clearly terrified demon. 

"Crowley-" Aziraphale entreated.

"I'm not honest," Crowley interrupted immediately. He was shaking, he couldn't look at Aziraphale. "I haven't been honest." He was naked, but he didn’t care about that particularly. His ass was open and his human sensations cried out for more of what he’d just been given, but he could ignore that. No, he shook from shame and from total, abject fear. He’d overstepped, no doubt about it, he’d lied and he’d lied his way into the angel’s bed - well, his couch, but still. That was too far to take a lie, any lie, no matter how important and destructive the telling of it may be.

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, then, "I'm sure it's nothing, dear," he said doubtfully. Crowley shook his head silently and Aziraphale began to wonder what was this horrible. "Tell me, then," he said before his thoughts ran away and conjured something unforgivable. 

Crowley couldn't, he  _ couldn't _ . But Aziraphale looked at him so horribly he thought it couldn't really get any worse. So he did. 

"I love you."

It smarted slightly, but Aziraphale knew the word was thrown around casually these days and Crowley was always so on top of modern language. He nodded once, still tense and stressed and waiting. Perhaps he could get away with it, just once, just say it, release it. "I love you too, dear boy, but what is it?" He prodded. 

"It's that!" Crowley shouted. Aziraphale flinched and Crowley regretted it, regretted kissing him, regretted coming here however many days ago he had swung by. He regretted shouting. "It's- ugh, fucking language."

Crowley covered his face with his hands. He wasn't brave, not overly, and he wasn't someone who necessarily thought that truths made things better, although he agreed that generally they did. He was, however, imaginative. So for a moment he constructed a world for himself where he sat on this couch and knew that everything was going to be okay. It was some effort given that he was entirely sure that everything was not going to be okay and Aziraphale was going to boot him out into the street and never let him walk through those doors again. But right now he did some mental gymnastics and convinced himself. 

"I'm in love with you, okay?" Crowley said into his hands. Then he dragged them down his face miserably. "Have been for- since I can- for some time now. You shouldn't fuck me if you don’t know what it does to me."

"What does it do to you?" Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley looked at him maudlinly. Aziraphale was leaning forwards, his hair a mess, his eyes bright, his tie half undone. He was beautiful. Crowley swelled with love, then, all at once, he gave up entirely. 

"I don't know how else to tell you, angel. I'm desperate for you," Crowley said, the words spilling easily, too easily, dangerously. "It kills me, every minute I don't have you, it kills me." Crowley shut his eyes and kept talking, his hands coming to his heart to try and hold himself together. "When you're sad it burns me, I care so much. When you're happy I can't breath from it, you're too beautiful, too terrible-" he stopped with a gasp, a sharp intake of air. He panted, he felt as light as air, and also a lot like he ought to return the spade he'd just used to dig his grave to the mobster standing over him with a gun. 

"That sounds horrible," Aziraphale muttered. But he began to soar. If Crowley had been watching properly he might have been relieved to notice Aziraphale’s wings open up behind him in euphoria, or perhaps he would have thought it a prelude to an attack. Regardless, he wasn’t looking, so Aziraphale’s quiet celebration passed without an audience and his wings quickly returned to their more ethereal, transparent presence. 

Crowley's shoulders slumped, his body catching up with the demon's defeat. "It's worse to be away, then I just have nothing" he admitted. 

Aziraphale shifted on the couch, shuffling closer. "Crowley, you deserve better than what you've been given," he said. 

Crowley glanced around the shop, drinking in the sight for what would surely be the last time. "It's my penance," he said sourly. 

Aziraphale needed to touch him, to make him understand it was okay, it was welcome. How he could have thought it wouldn’t be was beyond him, but that wasn’t the point right now. Now was time for Aziraphale to love. It was all happening very quickly and Aziraphale didn’t do well at that, but he would try. 

"Can I make you happy?" Aziraphale asked. He’d meant to say something more clear, more in line with _ I love you _ , but it had gotten jumbled and confused in its rush. 

“I don't want you to make me happy,” Crowley said, simultaneously exhausted and irritated and scared and a few other things (horny). “I want you to take me, but if - and  _ only _ if - it will please you.”

Aziraphale growled at himself, the sound deep and inhuman. He had gotten mixed up, this was so fast, and had to do it again. Better this time. Aziraphale shuffled closer again, taking Crowley’s face in his hands, forcing him to look at him. He tried again, focusing harder. “Can you not see, dear?” He whispered intensely. “Hold a mirror to my eyes and you'll see yours, my love, I feel the same way.”

Crowley choked, silent and still. “Aziraphale-”

But the angel was not done. “I am all I can offer you, but, dear heart, special one, I do so most humbly. You deserve better but I have none better to give.”

Crowley shut his eyes and tried one last time to not believe him, although he was swiftly being dragged towards a happy ending. “Aziraphale, I have lost you before. If this is you trying to give me what you think I want, as - as some misguided thanks or something, then you will eventually grow tired of it all - of me - and leave, and I- just be selfish, angel, just be selfish. Be selfish, what d'you want?”

“I see,” Aziraphale whispered, which was a lie. 

Crowley nodded. “Okay,” he encouraged.

“What do I want?”

“Yeah.”

Aziraphale sat back, letting his hands drop from Crowley’s face to his knees, touching him carefully, reverently. “We've chosen to live as humans, have we not?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley shucked a head to the side. He wasn’t moving. He sat in a position that wasn’t quite cross legged, but was close enough, and he stayed there dead still, waiting for this conversation to finish before he either stayed or went. It was very stressful. “More or less, yeah,” Crowley said. 

“I want- “ Well, he did know what he wanted. He’d thought about it earlier. And if Crowley was going to insist like this then Aziraphale would not refuse him. And he had a feeling that Crowley, in turn, would not refuse him either. “Hold on,” Aziraphale muttered as he stopped touching Crowley. He stood up began to winkle his ring off his finger. 

Crowley sat, not just frozen in stress, but also very very confused. Then Aziraphale kneeled before Crowley and Crowley began to put it all together at once. 

Aziraphale held his winged ring out to Crowley hopefully. “Crowley, the definition has changed over the millennia, so feel free to choose the contract which suits you best, they all ring true for me,” he said. 

Crowley was now gripping the couch desperately, holding something, anything that would give him some semblance of realism. “What,” he said, tonelessly. 

Aziraphale smiled at the sight. “Marry me, Crowley. I wish to serve you as a husband, in every meaning of the word that it has carried since we met.”

Crowley shut his eyes for a second and considered praying, but ultimately decided against it. His attempts to make himself understand what Aziraphale had just said- offered-  _ proposed _ , were weak. He mostly found himself sitting there hearing his own voice say _ don’t be a fuckwit, say yes. Say yes.  _ But he was frozen.

Crowley’s convoluted musings were interrupted by Aziraphale’s sigh. Minutes had passed and he was getting sore. Crowley’s eyes flew open to look in alarm. 

“Dear, must I stay kneeling much longer?” Aziraphale asked gently, still holding out the ring. “Only I didn't set out a cushion for my knee-”

Crowley laughed and threw himself at Aziraphale. It was only his belief in this being a good moment that saved them from crashing into the coffee table (instead it excused itself and reappeared on the other side of the room through inadvertent demonic intervention). Crowley found Aziraphale’s lips quickly and kissed him as they landed.

Aziraphale held him tight but pulled away from the kiss. “Answer me,” he demanded. 

Crowley grinned. “Yes, yes,” he said quickly, and was rewarded with many more kisses than he expected. 

They lay on the ground, Aziraphale solidly on his back, Crowley straddling him, still naked, but only interested in kissing the angel. For the first time the  _ I love you’s _ that sat on their lips was not held back by misplaced fears, but simply went unspoken because their tongues had more involved work to be doing.

Aziraphale eventually slowed him, first sitting up and taking some control over the atmosphere, then pushing Crowley gently back. Crowley took the hint quickly, he always did, and sat in Aziraphale’s lap, wrapped close. He muttered a quick, “I love you,” against the angel’s lips as he withdrew. 

Aziraphale smiled at him. “May I give you my ring?” He asked, barely having to speak to be heard they were so entwined. 

Crowley looked at him seriously. “Really?” He asked, his lips brushing Aziraphale’s. “It's not just for show?”

“No, love, it's for you,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley breathed a laugh. He tipped his head forwards so that he could remain connected to Aziraphale there as he curled his chest back, making room for his hand to snake up Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale copied the movement so they sat together and looked down at their hands as Aziraphale quietly slipped his ring onto Crowley’s finger, where it subtly made itself smaller to fit perfectly.

“Meant to be,” Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley politely didn’t comment on the miracle that had made it so. “Yeah,” he muttered in agreement instead. 

Then all at once Aziraphale felt very, very human. He crowded forwards and kissed Crowley, pushing him against the foot of the couch with his momentum. “Let me kiss you,” Aziraphale said into Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley didn’t understand, which was fair enough. “I am,” he said with a defensive chuckle. And it was true, his legs were thrown over Aziraphale’s thighs, his arms wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulders, and he was kissing Aziraphale as much as he was kissed.

“Everywhere,” Aziraphale groaned. He began to rise to kneeling, lifting Crowley easily. He was a Principality by training, and therefore crafted with a hidden but immense strength. 

Crowley tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s waist with his legs, holding on in amusement and alarm as he was pressed against the couch and steadily raised. “Sure.” 

Aziraphale lifted him and kissed him as he went, leaving desperate, long pent up marks of love on his collar bone, down his chest, on his nipples. Crowley began to shiver again, this time from overwhelmed amazement, as Aziraphale sucked and kissed his nipple wantonly, then his abdomen, then tongued at the dip of his hip bones.

“At some point you’ll have t’get your kit off, too,” Crowley gasped. 

Crowley’s ass was lifted above the couch and Aziraphale pushed him back, settling him to sit on the couch abnormally normally as Aziraphale kneeled between his legs and bruised his inner thigh with his teeth. Aziraphale pressed his hand to Crowley’s chest and pushed him back, making him lean obscenely against the couch. “No time,” Aziraphale said briefly, and for him there wasn’t, he needed to kiss Crowley and take him apart now. There were tastes he’d never thought he’d have the opportunity to explore.

Crowley laughed, giddy from everything. He felt very flattered, that Aziraphale wanted to touch him enough to not be willing to wait. He would get him later, he began to plan it, how he would work the angel’s over-the-top clothing off slowly, working with care and detail as he luxuriated in the reveal. 

His brief musing was entirely interrupted as Aziraphale pressed his tongue to Crowley’s ass.

Crowley gasped silently, then gasped very loudly. He gripped the couch, his eyes blown wide open, and stared at the heavens above him as the angel treated him like the best after dinner treat humanity had invented. Perhaps, he thought ridiculously, he was. 

Aziraphale was overwhelmed by all that had just happened- he was engaged! He normally took things far more slowly, but now didn’t seem like the moment for that, and he wanted to revel and partake. The taste of Crowley was marvelous, but the sound of him better. He hadn’t done this before, but he didn’t think about that, he didn’t think about much really, he just took what he wanted and enjoyed himself, pressing his tongue shamelessly to Crowley's hole and marveling in the shivers he caused.

Crowley has two native languages. Aziraphale does too. They are the only ones of their kinds who do. They share Enochian with each other and the many other occult or ethereal beings of God’s primary creation. In moments of great fury Crowley has been known to slip into Enochian, and Aziraphale in times of unadulterated joy. 

Their second native languages were forced on them at The Tower of Babel. Perhaps it was an inkling, a clue from God that She knew what lay ahead for them that they were the only non-humans affected, or perhaps they were simply standing too close when it fell. Crowley had actually been living in it, the view was amazing, and Aziraphale had popped around for tea at an unlucky moment so they had been standing very close indeed. 

Aziraphale was cursed with English, and perhaps his lack of interest in properly learning other languages was a part of why English is such a widespread language today. It was easier to not have to constantly miracle your speech to be understood. Crowley was given Yiddish, although he had learnt English fairly soon afterwards so as to speak with Aziraphale. 

Crowley slipped into his old Yiddish in moments of total collapse of a very human type. He did so now. Aziraphale flushed with pride at the proof of his good efforts. 

Aziraphale held Crowley's thighs tightly, keeping his legs spread as he pressed his tongue into Crowley, roughly massaging and exploring the effects he could have. Crowley calmed when Aziraphale pressed the flat of his tongue to him, but if he kept at it for a minute then the demon’s whimpers would grow in volume and delicacy, sending him spiralling towards madness at the persistently tender touch. When Aziraphale pressed his tongue in more directly Crowley would twitch bodily, his muscles responding with a communication his voice couldn’t manage now. It was quiet overall, a filthy quiet interrupted with saliva and moans. The few punctuations of outright cries were caused by Aziraphale lapping the distance of Crowley’s taint to his balls, but Aziraphale kept this to a minimum. He was hungry and focused.

Aziraphale did not speak Yiddish, and really most of what Crowley was muttering was too mangled to be understood by anyone. The only phrase that made it into the world with clarity was a wanton, "myen mlakh," which translates best to _ my angel _ . Crowley would not volunteer this information. 

Aziraphale's passion steadily cooled. It was lucky, in a way, because Crowley was starting to think he may melt rather than find the presence of mind to breathe again, and his body was beginning to complain. 

Aziraphale left a last kiss on Crowley’s asshole, then knelt back with far too much awareness of his behaviour and blushed.

“Oh dear, that was somewhat unbecoming,” Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley lowered his legs and looked at him in sheer disbelief and amazement. “Anytime,” he invited with a gasp as his lungs furiously thanked him for the oxygen. His feet landed on the ground either side of Aziraphale and he leaned forward, feeling very breakable. “Been hanging onto that a while, have ya?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I have, rather,” he admitted. 

Crowley kissed him and while he didn’t particularly enjoy the taste on Aziraphale’s lips, the knowledge of where it came from thrilled him. The sat, Aziraphale fully dressed (although a little unkempt) to Crowley’s nakedness, kneeling between his legs and holding his face warmly to be kissed. Aziraphale briefly considered the appropriate irony of an angel kneeling before a demon, of having to tilt his face up to reach his lips. Crowley deserved this kind of genuflect, this adoration. Crowley didn’t consider it at all, he was too overjoyed to simply be there, and his everything was still a little blurry after what Aziraphale had done to him. 

“My turn, then,” Crowley whispered eventually, as their gentle kiss faded.

“Oh?” Aziraphale said with a tight amusement. “And what's your plan?”

  
“Well,” Crowley mused as he ran a finger slowly down Aziraphale’s face, to languidly feel his jawline. “I had thought to kiss every moment of you, as you did me, but-” He was briefly interrupted as Aziraphale kissed him. Crowley waited with patience, kissing him in return, then continuing where he’d left off. “But your clothes are so difficult, angel.”

Aziraphale chuckled.

“I want to go for a walk,” Crowley muttered, a blush beginning to form. He had flushed when Aziraphale ate him out, but he hadn’t blushed. Now the intimacy of a walk seemed to undo him. “I want to show you off to everyone.”

Aziraphale stood and his knees considered banding together to send a thank you card for the relief from the pressure they’d endured. 

“Is that okay?” Crowley asked quietly, because habits are hard to break. 

Aziraphale held a hand out to Crowley, inviting him to stand. Crowley took it and did so, letting himself be pulled very close. “My fiance,” Aziraphale said warmly, “I’m not sure many people will care, but I would love to tell them all regardless.”

“They’ll care!” Crowley decided, betraying a grand presumption of his own importance. “This is magnificent.”

Aziraphale decided not to fight him on it. “Indeed,” he agreed, referring mostly to the second part of Crowley’s response. “Perhaps you should get dressed, though.”

Crowley smiled sheepishly, he had forgotten that. He tapped his hip with his thumb, and formed a quick fist as he raised his hand. His clothes flew to him and phased through his flesh impossibly to dress him in a moment. 

Once Aziraphale had spent a minute fixing his tie they left together, arm in arm. Neither were exactly right in their assumption of the public’s response. Crowley told strangers as they waited for lights or bought an ice cream and they responded enthusiastically, but without depth. It was more a polite response than a spread of joy, although it was happy news, and Crowley was somewhat put out at the less than personal reaction. But Aziraphale’s favourite baker gave them a cake on the house without pausing to consider it and a woman Crowley helped cross the street whenever he saw her waiting gave him an enormous hug, and really, wasn’t that enough?

**Author's Note:**

> first of all, I realise that the plot of betram's hotel is totally different to what i've described, i based that off the tv adaptation (w geraldine mcewan whom i fucking adore) cos thats the one i know and it gave me an easy segway into the fun line about wickedness, but the book is different! wildly so, actually, which is cool
> 
> also i dont really like getting rimmed so that one was odd to write, but it felt like the sorta thing aziraphale would get into. crowley is a snack, after all
> 
> let me know what you think!! it's a very different style of writing to my usual but i really enjoyed it, i hope it all translated well (switching pov is a bit tough to do clearly, wowzer)
> 
> <3


End file.
